


Ghosts

by notjustmom



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Eventual Fluff, F/M, M/M, Sussex, The Six Thatchers Spoilers, mention of Mrs. Hudson's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9223973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: Threw this idea at scrub456: What if John never speaks to Sherlock again after the aquarium? Five years after the events in The Six Thatchers, Sherlock retires to Sussex to raise bees and forget John.Twenty years after Sherlock leaves London, John seems to crack up, showing up at Baker Street, thinking it's 2010. Roz (Rosie) Watson hopes to find Sherlock to help her understand what happened to her father in the years after Afghanistan, as he has never told her about what really happened to her mother and nothing about his relationship with Sherlock. Going mostly Mofftiss canon until I go offbook so to speak.**Now Complete**





	1. Roz and Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrub456](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/gifts).



> For my heart, who lets me break hers with my brainstorms. <3

"Roz."

"Uncle Greg? Not again."

"He's with us, he's safe. I'm bringing him to your place, he needs to rest and we need to talk. There are things you don't know, stuff that happened to your dad years ago, that he, that we should have told you. We'll be there in ten minutes, yeah?"

"Okay, thanks for keeping an eye on him. I'll put the kettle on."

"Rosie, luv, you'll want to get out something a bit stronger."

 

"Dad." She looked him over and knew it was a bad night. He couldn't bear to be touched or 'handled' on those nights, so she gave him space.

"Hey, Roz, sorry to mess up your evening. I just, things don't make sense right now. Is it okay if I just rest? I always tried to get him to sleep when he couldn't solve something, but he never listened to me, huh, Greg?"

"Right, John. But he rarely listened to anyone back then, you know that."

"Yeah, well, night."

 

Roz watched her father climb wearily to the guest bedroom and shut the door. She walked over to the table and poured out two stiff whiskies.

"Why Baker Street? Far as I know, he never went near there before these last couple of weeks."

"You're, what, twenty-five, now, yeah?"

"Sounds about right." She laughed and took a sip of her drink.

"He ever tell you about Afghanistan?"

"You mean the war he was in thirty years ago?"

"Yeah. He never talks about his life when he was invalided out, those years before you were born, does he?"

Roz considered for a moment, then shook her head. "No. But I know he has never slept well. He always worked night hours once I could put myself to bed, then he could sleep while I was at school. I came home one afternoon, and he was having a nightmare, I was afraid because his door was locked. I called Molly, because she always carried extra keys, in case...Greg?"

"Shit. John should be telling you this, or Molly. She knows some parts of the story better than I do..."

"Greg. Please? He's in a bad place, and I need to help him. I'm closing the gallery for a while, so I can be here for him."

"Okay. Tell you what. I know if John was aware of what was going on, he'd kick my arse for what I'm gonna do right now, but it's time." He pulled out a time softened business card from his wallet and handed it to her.

Sherlock Holmes  
Consulting Detective  
221B Baker Street

"Once your dad started blogging -"

"No way, my dad was, he - but -" Roz sputtered to a stop, and took a breath. "My dad is John Hamish Watson? Sometimes... we would be out and someone would recognise him, and he'd sigh and shake his head and say, "sorry mate, you've got me confused with some other bloke," and we'd leave, no matter what we were doing, and he'd go to his room and sleep for a day. What happened to them?"

"I'm gonna write down Sherlock's address in Sussex, he's been retired for a long time now, he just raises bees and makes honey. You need to think long and hard before you visit him, he, uhm, loved John so much that it nearly literally broke his heart, but I think your dad needs him, I think he's finally stopped being angry, and remembers how much he loved Sherlock, but he's afraid it's too late, and - shit. It should never have gone down the way it all did. Damn. Look, I'm shite at this kinda thing. Just, uh, the archives of the old blog are still online, read the post about when he and Sherlock met and consider everything. You might not recognise your father in his words, but he was different then."

 

Sherlock walked into the post office whistling a bit of something he was working on. He nodded to Hilda, who he had known for what -

"How long has it been, Hilda?"

"Evenin' Mr. Holmes, I think this is your twentieth spring is it not, since you came from London?"

"And yet, you still won't call me Sherlock, or darken my door to have tea with me, now why is that, do you suppose?"

She grinned at their running joke. "I don't think my Henry would approve, and you know how people talk..."

"I don't think your ginger cat would mind all that much..." His voice trailed off as he flipped through his mail and spotted a London postmark, and Watson on the return address. He sniffed the envelope, oil paint, varnish, turpentine and a whiff of a scent he didn't think he'd ever smell again. "Clair de la Lune," he whispered. "Mary."

"Mr. Holmes? Are you quite alright? Sherlock?"

"Hmmm? Oh. Yes. Fine. I'm fine. I, uhm. Ghosts, Hilda, just too many ghosts. I thought they were finished with me. But, it appears one has found me."

"You look paler than usual, luv, are you sure you don't need a nice cuppa? I can get you one in a jiff."

Sherlock blinked and snorted. "He always made tea to keep the ghosts away, when he was afraid to sleep."

"Who did, Mr. Holmes?"

"A friend, Hilda, just someone I used to know. Thank you for the offer, but I need to see to the bees."

"What you need is a -"

"little woman? Ah, your gender, Hilda, has meant nothing but trouble for me, nothing but trouble."

She saw the truth in his handsome face. No longer the thin, pale, shadow of a man she met twenty years ago, she had heard talk that he was a vampire, and he certainly had looked the part. Romance gone bad, she had decided; a mess of raven curls, dark circles under his remarkable eyes, she wasn't quite sure what colour they were, as they seemed to change on a daily basis, and his thin hands trembled as she handed him his few letters. It had taken time, but slowly, his face filled out, and his complexion had become warmer, even if still on the pale side. He burned, he complained, if he didn't take care, and she found him a charming, intelligent, gentle man, if a bit lonely and quiet at times.

"Perhaps next time, Mr. Holmes?"

"Hmmm, yes, perhaps." She had never known him to open his mail in her presence before, and he was only half listening, as his face coloured, and his eyes turned almost to a sea green as he read the letter in his trembling hand.

 

April 2041 - He blinked at the year, wondering how he had managed to live so long...


	2. Letter 1: Roz to Sherlock

3 April 2041

Dear Mr. Holmes,

First, please allow me to apologise for disturbing you. I would not do so if I did not believe you are the only person who can help me and my father. Though, I promise, if you choose to burn this letter and 'delete' it, I will understand and I will never contact you again. 

I am slowly learning of my history, and of the pain my family has caused you. I wish an apology from me would ease your heart a bit, but you don't know me, so I don't know that it would mean anything to you, except to remind you of a time I'm sure you would rather leave to the past.

My name is Roz Watson, though my full given name is Rosamund Mary. I understand I was named for my mother who I never knew, but who I believe was your friend after a fashion. My father rarely speaks of her, and never spoke of you until recently. He has moments which are becoming more frequent of late when he believes the year to be 2010, and he lives at Baker Street with you. Sorry, I have been told more than once that I am about as subtle as a steamroller. I just need you to understand the situation as much as I do before you come to a decision. Even if you never wish to see my father again, it would help me so much if I could speak to you in person, just to put a face to the man who meant(means?) so much to him.

Kindest regards,

Roz Watson

 

Sherlock ran a long, shaky finger over the loopy, beautiful handwriting, so unlike her father's stereotypical left-handed doctor's scrawl. An artist, loved and cherished by a select few, but she found it difficult to understand her father, no doubt he gave her everything he could, and loved her deeply as only a single father could, but he had never shared his heart with her, never told her who she was, what love she came from. 

"Damn it, John."

"Mr. Holmes?" Hilda looked at him kindly, but then, she had always been kind to him.

"My apologies." He took a deep breath and ran his free hand through his hair as he suddenly saw his reflection in the mirror behind Hilda, tears running down his face. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried, and then he did. When Molly had sent him a letter telling him of Mrs. Hudson's passing away in her sleep, what, ten years ago, now? "I am so sorry. I don't normally -"

"No, I know, Sherlock. Are you sure you don't need that cuppa, or a touch of something stronger? It's not a ghost, is it? I find the living much harder to deal with, our ghosts tend to be better behaved. Come back to my office, I'm closing up for my dinner break anyhow."

Sherlock sniffled, but nodded and she let him through.

Yes, he thought, the dead are infinitely kinder, Hilda, I do believe you are right about that.


	3. Molly and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These conversations take place the night Sherlock received Roz's first letter. Sorry, came out a bit angstier than I had intended.

He stared at his phone for an hour, trying to come to a decision. He and Hilda had put away quite a bit of a fifth of - he had done most of the drinking, now that he thought about it, she had done most of the listening.

"Did you love him?"

"Yes." Odd how simple it was now to admit to someone, not a stranger, but someone who hadn't known how he was back then, hadn't known them.

"Do you still?"

"Hmm?"

"Love him?"

He considered the question for a long moment, then whispered, "Hilda, I will love him til the day I die and if something comes after, then I will still. Love. Him."

"If that's the case -"

 

He picked up his phone and selected Molly's number from his contacts. He closed his eyes and held his breath until he heard her voice.

"Sherlock?"

"Molly. I need to know... John? How bad is it? I got a letter from Rosie, uhm, Roz, and I just, do you think it would help if I talked to her?"

"She finally did it? I wasn't sure she would, she's been trying to help him on her own. I mean, Greg and I are doing what we can, but she is learning things that would kill most people, and making sure he doesn't -"

"Molly. What do you think is going on? Is it -?"

"No. I think it's temporary, he fell a while back and hit his head, I thought it was just a concussion, but ever since then, he has flashes when he truly believes he is still sharing the flat with you. And then he remembers. Oh, Sherlock, he remembers everything. I think he prefers those moments when he thinks the two of you are still friends. He calls Greg when he finds himself in front of the building, so apologetic, and then he won't talk for a day or two. Roz is her mum's child, she is so strong, but she needs help Sherlock, please?"

"I'm not ready to see him yet, you can give her my number, tell her I will answer whatever questions she has honestly if she is ready to hear the answers, I'm ready to tell her, but I can't see him yet, Molly. I don't know if I will ever be able -"

"Sherlock. Breathe. I know what it took to call me. I have miss-"

"Don't. Please, Molly. I understand you were put in an awkward position, but, oh, Molly, I miss him so much, you can't possibly know - how much."

Molly handed the phone to Greg, who wrapped her in a warm hug.

"Sherlock. Thank you. You don't have to do this."

"Yes, Greg, I do. I'm doing this for Rosie, she needs to know who he was, who he might still be. They both need to know. Just have her text me a day before she wants to visit, please?"

"Will do, mate. Night."

"Good night, Greg, tell Molly, tell her I -"

"She knows, Sherlock. It's okay."

 

He still had the note she had pushed into his hand that day, the day his heart shattered and he lost everything that had ever truly mattered to him. He pushed away from the kitchen table and opened the tea tin on the window sill, the first thing he saw every morning the last twenty years. He opened the tin and pulled out the rumpled paper, the words fading, but he knew them by heart.

You have broken my heart. I wish I hadn't survived the war, I wish I had never met you. Stay away, please, do this one thing for me, if you love me, stay away.

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry. I hope I'm doing the right thing. Seems I never knew how. I hope I can get it right this time." He replaced the note, put the tin back in its place, turned out the light and went to bed.


	4. John & Roz

"...most important day of my life...I want the two people I love most in the world...oh, God. Sherlock, I am so sorry. Please forgive me, please?"

"Dad? Dad? Please, wake up? Captain Watson, rise and shine."

John blinked at his daughter who was kneeling at his bedside. Somehow with two short parents, she was willowy and tall, might even be taller than Sherlock...God. Sherlock.

"Another dream?"

He nodded.

"Nightmare?"

He shook his head. "The day I asked him to be my Best Man. I made him stand up next to me while I married your Mum, I didn't know then, Rosie, I swear, I didn't know."

"Didn't know what, Dad?" Roz whispered. 

"That he loved me, had always loved me, since the day we met. I'm so afraid, Rosie, that he will never forgive me. I, I blamed him for everything, and everything he has ever done, every single thing, was for me, to keep me safe, or make me happy. If -"

"If?"

"If only I had told him, just once, that all I ever wanted was to be with him, by his side, everything could have been so..." He closed his eyes and was back to sleep, snoring softly.

Roz stood up and pulled out her phone.

 

I know it's short notice, but can I see you today? - RMW

Rosie? - SH

Yeah, sorry did I wake you? - RMW

Never been much of a sleeper - SH

Me either - RMW

Tell you what, there's a place, Angelo's, John knows it, has the best tiramisu I've ever had, haven't had it in years, tell the owner who it's for and it'll be free. Bring that, and I'll see you at five this evening. - SH

I think I can swing it. - RMW

See you then, Rosie. - SH

 

Can you stay with him tonight? - RMW

Going to see Sherlock? - GL

Yeah, it's getting worse, I need to talk to him. - RMW

More nightmares? - GL

The day he asked Sherlock to be his Best Man. - RMW

Damn. - GL

Yeah. I need to leave around noon, gotta make a stop at Angelo's. - RMW

Tiramisu. - GL

Got it in one. - RMW


	5. Roz and Angelo

Roz took a deep breath and pushed open the door. She had finally read about their first dinner together, about their first case, how Sherlock had shot down her dad...

"Spitting image, you are John Watson's daughter." Angelo greeted her warmly, still the same jovial man, just thirty years older.

"And you must be Angelo." She smiled, and shook his offered hand.

"I suppose I must be." He laughed and pulled her into a gentle hug. "What can I do for you, young lady?"

"Roz, please call me Roz. Uhm, I'm going to visit Sherlock -"

"Sherlock, that's a name I haven't heard in a long time. Heard a rumour he was raising bees somewhere, Sussex?"

Roz nodded. "He asked me to bring some of your world famous tiramisu."

"World famous, eh? Yeah, I happen to have some on hand. It was one of the few things that your dad knew Sherlock would always eat. Don't know how he managed to stay as thin as he did, he could pack it away, but only if your dad ordered it. Odd duck he was, uhm, is, our Sherlock. Let me get it for you, shall I make it a double?" Angelo shot her a wink and she found herself smiling in spite of everything.

"Please?"

"You got it. And you need some real food, I know just what you need. Give me a minute?"

Roz nodded and looked around the restaurant, it was empty, and she saw the table that looked over Northumberland Street.

 

"Don't stare."

"You're staring."

"We can't both stare..."

 

"That was their table, always was, even after...no one ever sits there, it's... must sound strange, but I'm still waiting for them to come back and bicker as they always did. I don't think your dad ever finished a single meal here, but, it was where they came after they finished a case, your dad would order his regular, Sherlock would steal from his plate, and then John would always get two orders of tiramisu, one they would eat here, the other they would take home. John came even after...never mind. Here, luv. Tell him, just tell him his table is always open."

"After what?" Roz whispered.

"After Sherlock jumped."

"He what?" Roz blinked at him, reminded suddenly of one of her dad's recurring nightmares, it sounded as if he were trying to talk someone off a ledge. "Can I sit for a minute?" She found it hard to breathe for a moment.

"Of course, it was before your time, before your Mum, who was a lovely lady, by the way, and smart as a whip, only person who could match Sherlock, and she was funny, could make him laugh. I know he must still miss her...damn. I'm sticking my foot in it, these are stories you need to hear from Sherlock, or your dad. Not my place."

Roz nodded. "I'm just learning about them. My dad never told me about...too hard, I think. He was my rock growing up, but I always felt he was sad, though he never showed that to me, just something in his eyes, even when he smiled. Damn, I need to go. I'll bring my dad in soon?"

Angelo hugged her and kissed her cheek. "Don't be too hard on them, either of them, they are good people, trouble just seemed to find them, and they didn't know how to -"

"talk to each other?"

"Smart girl. Just warm it up when you get there, it's a new recipe I'm trying out, come back and tell me what you think."

"Thank you, Angelo. Let me -" She pulled out her wallet and he shook his head. "No, my girl, not as long as I'm alive will a Watson ever pay for anything here. You are family, luv. Someday I'll tell you a story..."

Roz kissed his cheek and picked up the bags. "Thank you, my friend. I know how much this place meant to my dad. I'll bring Sherlock, I promise."

"Good girl." His eyes misted a bit, as he opened the door for her.

 

"Rosie, what have you gotten yourself into?" She rested on her steering wheel for a long breath, then blew it out slowly, and pulled out her phone.

 

Just leaving Angelo's - RMW

Gave you a double order and dinner, didn't he? - SH

How? - RMW

I've discovered most people don't change over time. - SH

You did. - RMW

You don't know me, Roz, you don't know me at all. - SH

You might be surprised. - RMW

Never liked surprises. - SH

I know. - RMW


	6. Sussex

Roz pulled into the Post Office lot, she was half an hour early, and she wanted to stretch her legs, and breathe in the sweet spring air. And, yes, perhaps get an idea of the man she was about to meet from someone who hadn't known him back...then.

The bell rang and Hilda looked up. Roz felt as if she were being interrogated without a word being spoken. Then Hilda nodded in approval(?) she hoped it was approval. "He thought you might arrive a little early. Nervous? No. It isn't that. You just want to see the man who has haunted your father for 30 years, you need an answer to something, but you don't know what the question is yet. He's nervous, and yet he wants so much to help you, help your father, he is just afraid he won't be able to give you the answers you think you want. Just be kind? No, I can see you don't want him to be hurt anymore."

"You know that? Good, I'm so glad. I don't know what I'm doing honestly, uhm -"

"Hilda."

"I'm -"

"You're Rosie. He knew you as Rosie."

"He knew me?"

"You didn't know?"

Roz shook her head and bit her lip. 

"He'll tell you, just be patient, and once he starts, it'll be hard to stop him. He's quite the talker. He has the farm a couple miles from here, he should be ready for you now."

"Thank you, Hilda."

"So good to have met you, Rosie."

Roz got back into her car and took a deep breath, and blew it out again, then started her car again.

 

Sherlock paced. Tea or wine? She's bringing dinner, wine, then. Maybe she doesn't drink? I know I'm going to drink. Wine it is. Bottle of the good stuff. Good. Fine. 

He looked up when he heard a knock. Strong, not tentative. Good, that's good, right? John's daughter, John and Mary's daughter. Breathe. Answer the door. Right then.

"Rosie?"

Oh. God. So much like John, just taller, Mary's eyes though. Oh. Damn.

"Mr. Holmes?"

"Please, call me Sherlock. Come in, let me take something? Kitchen is this way, I opened a good bottle of red. I used to be quite the wine person, but I don't have an audience any longer..."

 

"Frailty of genius, John. It needs an audience."

 

"Are you alright?" Roz spoke quietly.

"Sorry, you just look so much like your father, just wasn't expecting it, you have your mum's eyes though. It's quite something. Here let me warm this up, and get the tiramisu in the fridge - do you like bees?"

Roz laughed and Sherlock froze.

"Sorry, you are exactly what I thought you'd be like."

"Am I?" He put the dish in the oven, while she put dessert in the fridge and they turned to face each other again.

Roz nodded. "Would it be okay if I hugged you, I understand if you'd rather not, I just feel like it's something I would do if we had always known each other, and I was just here to visit. Does that make any sense?"

Sherlock nodded, unable to find words, and Roz moved closer to him. He could see more of Mary, her laughter, her smile was all Mary. She was brave, he thought, as she suddenly wrapped her arms around him and leaned into his shoulder for a long minute, when he remembered to return the gesture. He felt her relax against him, then heard someone's stomach growl, and they both laughed.

"A glass of wine while we wait?" He mumbled.

"Please?"

"Here, allow me?" Sherlock pulled out the chair for her, and she bowed a bit before she sat down.

"Thank you."

He poured them each a glass, then looked at her again. "For what?"

"For everything. I know only bits and pieces of what happened, but I know enough to know you sacrificed a lot for my father. And I know why."

"You do."

Roz nodded. "You loved him, and you still do."

"How -?"

"He told me."

"John told you."

"He had a dream of the day he asked you to be his Best Man. I was with him, when he started begging for your forgiveness, he realised how hard it must have been for you to stand up for him when he married Mum, when you were in love with him. You never told him. Because you thought he would be happy if he married Mum. And you wanted him to be happy."

Sherlock nodded.

"And then he said all he had ever wanted was to be with you, be at your side. But he never said, he was afraid to tell you, he blames himself -"

Sherlock shook his head and stood up to check the pasta. "I never wanted him to, I had hurt him so badly, so many times, I had no right to ask, to think he could want to - damn it. I left him. I had no choice, but the timing sucked, I had created a diversion, and he bought it, because he trusted me, and then realised that I had sent him away. He returned before I was ready, he - I - made him watch me jump, Rosie, he thought he had failed me. For two years, he believed I was dead. I returned the night your dad was going to propose to your mum. I interrupted his proposal, by pretending to be a waiter. I could never have faced him straight. I made a joke out of his grief, Rosie. Truly unforgivable, but he forgave me. I still don't know why."

"Because he loves you." Roz whispered.

"No. No, Rosie. After the wedding and the reception. I swore to your parents, and to you, you were already present, just very, very tiny. I vowed to keep all of you safe, to be there for you, for all of you, always. And I tried, I swear I did. I didn't realise at the time how complicated it would be to keep that vow. Your mum was a lot like me, but had a history, a long dangerous history that I should have seen, should have been able to see, but, I missed all the signs, and we all paid for that. Somehow, I was fortunate enough to be there when you were born, I was one of the first people to hold you, so tiny, so perfect, your fingers, toes, everything in its proper place. I thought we would be okay, and then a few months after, it all went to hell. Your mum, Rosie, died because she took a bullet meant for me, and we couldn't save her. And your dad hasn't spoken to me since. This is the last thing he ever wrote to me." He walked over to the tea tin and picked it up. He knew she would get up and walk out, but he needed her to know why he had stayed away from her all these years. "Please open it. I need you to understand. It was your father's wish -"

Roz's hands trembled, but she opened it and pulled out the fragile paper. She read it once, reread it, and replaced it, then put the lid back on, and handed it back to him. "I'm so sorry."

Sherlock opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Sherlock. I can't imagine how it must've devastated you. You not only lost Mum, but the person you loved most, and for him to push you away...I'm so, so sorry."

The buzzer on the oven went off then, and Sherlock blinked, then turned, only to find her standing in front of him. "Not your fault."

"Of course it was."

"No. She made a choice. She loved both of you very much."

"Don't. Please, Rosie."

"Not your fault, not my father's fault. My mum was stubborn and strong and exhausted."

"What?" Sherlock whispered.

"I found her diary. Password protected, but even for...what she was, it wasn't exactly -"

"Fort Knox?"

Rosie laughed. "She knew she couldn't keep running, she could see what it was doing to Dad, to you, she loved both of you so much, Sherlock. And she must have known what it would have done to my father if you had died for real, she had known him when he had only thought you were dead..."

"She was -"

"what she was, Sherlock. A brilliant, funny, beautiful assassin for hire. She had never felt loved until she met the two of you. And when she knew how you felt about my dad and had guessed what he felt for you, and then she did what she did to you - she thought she had lost everything. But, you, Sherlock Holmes, gave her everything she ever wanted. You forgave her. I can't even imagine how, but you did it, and because of that choice I am here today. So, yes, I thank you."

"Uhm, you're welcome?" 

Roz smiled, kissed him on the cheek and pulled Angelo's creation from the oven. "Hungry?"

"Starving."


	7. John and Greg

John looked at his clock and blinked, 2pm. Damn. Another dream. Roz had talked him through it, and he wondered what it was; it wasn't one of the nightmares that he was used to, it had been a good day, Sherlock was back at Baker Street, he and Mary were beginning to plan the wedding. It was the day he had asked Sherlock to be his Best Man, he had heard Mrs. Hudson cackling, about telegrams and then he had gone upstairs. And he had ended up breaking Sherlock; he hadn't known that John had considered him his best friend. There was something else he had realised, though, something new. Sherlock loved him, at least had loved him. "Coffee. I need coffee."

He went downstairs and found Greg making sandwiches. "Hey, John. There are some good matches on, Roz asked me to come over and -"

"Babysit?"

"When did you ever need babysitting?"

"Sorry, Greg. I haven't been myself lately, and I know I've got you all worried. She went to Sussex, didn't she? He doesn't want to see me. Can't blame him. I shut him out, kept him out of Roz's life, I've spent the last twenty-five years trying to forget two of the best people I've ever known, because it hurt too damn much to remember. Do you think there's any chance he will ever forgive me, Greg?" John shook his head and mumbled, "Never mind. Stupid question."

"Honestly?"

John nodded.

"Yeah, yeah I do. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to him. You gave him so much John. I don't think you truly know, your friendship saved him. You were the first person to not treat him like a freak. You never did, not once. You saw him as a person first, then you told him he was brilliant and amazing. You tried to get him to see he was important not because of his talents, but because he was a decent person. A good person. No one else had ever done that for him before, and especially not in such a dramatic fashion, you know he was always a sucker for a good dramatic gesture."

John had the grace to blush before he grabbed a cheese and pickle sandwich and took a bite. "You always knew."

"Course I did, I knew when he spotted you behind the tape and you both tried not to look at each other, but I didn't have the weapon, no evidence, no corroborating witness ever came forward to say who fired that shot. He was a serial poisoner who would have kept killing until his luck ran out or his aneurysm got him. You did us all a favour and you saved Sherlock from himself. Without you, he'd have been dead years ago."

"What should I do?"

"Write him a letter, give him time, John. Let him come to you, I have the feeling after he's met our Roz again, it won't take him long to ask you down to see his bees."

"You did bring some beer, right?"

"Of course I did, mate, in the fridge. Grab me one, yeah?"

 

How is he? - RMW

Good, we watched a couple matches and he went up to bed a bit ago. How are you? - GL

I'm good, he's perfectly lovely, Greg. - RMW

You are seeing the mellowed version, remember that. - GL

I know, I know, but still, I can see why Mum and Dad loved him - RMW

Staying the night? - GL

Yeah, he has a guest room. He bought this house because it had two bedrooms, just in case Dad ever forgave him. - RMW

Good, Roz, that's good. I'll stay the night. I'll be here when you get back.- GL

Yer the best, Uncle Greg. I don't tell you that enough - RMW

I love you too, sweet. - GL

 

14 June 2041

 

Sherlock -

I'm the writer and I've been sitting in Roz's studio trying to write one coherent sentence for over three hours now. I keep thinking of the last time I wrote to you. I can't let those words be the last words you read from me. It was so much easier to lay the blame on you. I guess most of it had very little to do with Mary and how she died. I was still so hurt by how you left me that first time, and then you killed Magnussen to keep her safe and you were about to leave me again, and you couldn't, you still couldn't just tell me. I know you needed to see me smile one last time, but, damn. I keep thinking of all the times I could have told you, but didn't, I have always loved you. Always. I thought you knew. I would have done anything, been anything, gone anywhere just to be by your side, but you always took that choice away from me. You wanted me safely tucked away, you were always willing to die for me. All I ever wanted was for you to take a chance and live for me. With me.

Sorry. You know I tend to ramble. If you read and remember nothing else, know this. I LOVE YOU. In any way you want or need. And if you can't forgive me, know that I still will always love you.

Yours, as ever

John


	8. Scrapbooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mostly fluff...whew...

12 February 2016

 

John and Sherlock flew up the stairs, laughing. Mary looked up, and rolled her eyes. "Another one for the books, boys?"

Sherlock flopped onto the couch next to her, then grinned. "Ah, Mary, it was glorious. Hey there, little one. Your mum would've loved it. A Baker drowned in his own cake batter..."

"Don't tell me, it was the candlestick maker down the street -"

"John! You told her."

"Nope. Not a word, my wife is just brilliant is all. Missed you, love." John bent down and kissed her gently.

"For cheating on her with the butcher." Sherlock finished with a flourish. 

"No." Mary giggled.

"Scout's honour."

"You, Sherlock Holmes, were never a scout."

"What is all this?" Sherlock tried to open one of the photo albums, but Mary slapped his hand away.

"No, you don't. As you know it is Valentine's Day in a couple days..."

"Is it?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Yes. Git. As I have been forced to wait at home whilst the menfolk capture the baddies, I decided to make scrapbooks for you two, so you will have a completely analog record of your wildest and weirdest adventures."

"Genius wife."

"Brilliant, Mary, just brilliant."

 

14 June 2041

 

"Oh, God. That's her. Their wedding day, she's so beautiful."

"Of course, she had to include that, an almost murder at her own wedding?"

"Look at you and Dad. And all that Lilac...Uncle Greg, Aunt Molly - who's she with?"

"Tom. Not a sociopath. Only redeeming quality."

"Mrs. Hudson, I still miss her."

"Me too, every day."

"You weren't there."

"I was. I stayed back, then waited til you all left. I couldn't stand a scene that day. I said a proper goodbye, then came back here. It was the last time I cried until I got your letter. I actually fell apart in the Post Office, in front of Hilda. She's the one who convinced me I needed to see you."

Roz took a sip of wine and murmured, "how? What did she say?"

Sherlock touched a photo of John, and whispered, "She asked me, 'did you love him?' and I answered, 'Yes.' Then she asked me if I still loved him, and I said, 'I will love him til the day I die and if something comes after, then I will still. Love. Him.' And she said, 'If that's the case, you need to see his daughter and then you must make peace with him, not only for his sake, but for your own.' "

"Favour?"

"Hmm?"

"Come back with me?"

"Rosie."

"Just to see him, please, I don't expect a grand reunion..."

"Yeah, you do, you're a romantic, just like he is, always was."

"Sherlock?"

"Hell. You Watsons. Have always been the death of me."

"You're terrible." Roz snorted into her wine.

"But honest. Here goes nothing."

 

Dinner. Angelo's. Tomorrow. 7PM - SH

Casual dress? - JW

Please? - SH

I'll be there. I know Roz put you up to it, but thank you. - JW

No. I need to see you, John. - SH

Me too. I am sorry. For everything. - JW

 

"There."

"Am I asking too much?"

"No, Rosie. You aren't. You are simply asking me to be brave enough to see if John loves me as much as I love him. Tomorrow, I will finally know when I look into his eyes again. I do need to know Rosie. Thank you for coming here, it took guts. I'm sorry I wasn't there to see you grow up. I think I would have enjoyed that very much. Very much indeed, my dear."


	9. John and Molly

"I must be nuts, Molly."

"Yes."

"Ta fer that." John looked at his reflection and groaned. At least his hair was still in good nick, he wasn't as sure about the rest.

"You do realise he will also be twenty-five years older, too. He isn't Peter Pan."

"I know, but he started out gorgeous, a bit of an advantage."

"He loves you."

"I've never understood it, Molly. Why he -" John stopped and looked at his phone. Ten minutes. No text from Sherlock cancelling. In ten minutes they would be sitting together again at Angelo's.

"Breathe, John. This is Sherlock, not a blind date."

"I have to go. He'll think I'm not coming if I'm late."

"I think he'll give you a few minutes, John, he's only waited two and a half decades."

"I know." John whispered.

"I didn't mean to make it sound the way it came out."

"I know, it's just what it was, Molly. I can't change it, much as I would do anything if I could."

Molly nodded and hugged him. "Go."

 

John walked around the building so he could see Sherlock sitting at their table before he went in, but Sherlock seemed to have had the same idea. He was waiting at the corner, just standing there, not manically texting, or smoking, or pacing, just standing. Then he turned as if he knew John was behind him.

"Same shampoo, John. Same tea, and a whiff of that hospital odour, that no amount of soap will ever wash away."

"You haven't -" Sherlock's eyes sparkled at him, and John's heart began racing. "I was going to say that you haven't changed a bit. But, I have no right to say that. I apologise. Can I start over?"

Sherlock nodded, then took John's hand in his and brought it to his lips. John shivered and had to remind himself that he knew how to breathe without thinking about it. 

"Sherlock." 

"It's fine, John. It's all fine."

John opened his mouth to say the words he should have said so long ago, but then looked into Sherlock's eyes and knew that now was not the time.

"I know, John."

"Good. Because I'm starving. Oh. Sherlock. Look."

Sherlock turned and looked in the window. Angelo had spotted them and found the biggest candle Sherlock had ever seen and placed it in the center of their table.

" 'A candle, makes it more romantic.' Isn't that what he said?"

"You remember that?"

"John, don't you know, I've never deleted anything about you, ever?"

"The good, the bad, and the ugly, huh?" John blinked up at him.

"All of it."

"And yet you are still here."

"Yes, John, still here, not going anywhere without you ever again."

"Promise?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm never making another vow to you as long as we both shall live."

"Good." John reached up into Sherlock's silvering curls and pulled him into a kiss that made them both shudder.

"Dinner?"

"Thought you'd never ask."


	10. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because, naturally, the story ends in Sussex...

John couldn't remember the last time he had slept so peacefully, and he knew he had never been as content as he was the first time he woke up in Sherlock's arms. He rolled and shifted just enough so he could observe Sherlock at rest. Then he remembered how carefully, how exquisitely sweetly Sherlock had made love to him just a few hours previously. He hadn't been with anyone since Mary and Sherlock had never been touched in love or even truly kissed before, but somehow, he understood how John needed him. Sherlock had found those places that made John tremble, others that made him grip the sheets tightly in his fingers and when he entered him for the first time, their eyes met and John whimpered out his first and last plea for forgiveness. When they came together as one, John sobbed as he knew he had already been forgiven. Sherlock pulled out gingerly, then silently left the room, returning with a warm, slightly damp flannel. He held John in his arms and washed him with a reverence that threatened to break John's heart in two, as he whispered, "sleep, John. Welcome home, love."

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open, and he smiled. "I was afraid to open my eyes, John, for fear you would not be here next to me."

John reached out tentatively to push a silver edged curl from Sherlock's eyes. "I hope some day, Sherlock, you will know for certain that I will be by your side for as long as you wish me to be. I know you are accustomed to a solitary life, but know that when you reach for me, I will be here. Oh. Damn. Sherlock?"

Sherlock blinked at him, as a single tear fell onto his pillow. "Hmm?"

"There you are, I thought I had broken you again."

"John? How do you feel about bees?"


End file.
